The Unholy
by GuillotineDreamer
Summary: Set three years after the Carnival event. Claire is set up in a little apartment, Peter is still working as a paramedic and Gabriel has turned over a new leaf. Well. A little bit. However, not everything is well for the Heroes. There's murders - and not just any murders. Carnage and horror have become very common; Kula is hiding something. Or rather, somebody. {Mature Themes.}
1. A Girl next Door

Every inch of her body shakes. It convulses; it screams. The dark shadows fall over her supple curves, the sharpness to her form. Just a light somewhere distant is the only hint to who cowers into the corner of her room. Thrusting her knuckles against her vicious teeth she pushes her toes down against the floor, the sudden exhale of her breath so delightful on her burning skin. Control it, use it - but no matter how hard she tries her body denies her salvation. Salvation. Cold water, maybe, or just... A moment of stillness. A moment where her body doesn't twist and writhe, and her heart doesn't thunder as if it could burst. Her teeth easily pierce her own skin and, feeling the warmth of her own blood burning against her skin, she jerks her head back to utter a muffled cry. Such pale skin and long limbs? She could almost be beautiful. But she's so contorted, the pain distorting her sharp features. When her upper lip is drawn back into a fierce snarl, the sharp teeth are exposed. Raking at her very skin are nails kin to talons, leaving hideous wounds in her shoulders as she scrabbles for any sort of movement. After struggling for hours she succumbs and, tears and dregs of makeup leaving trails on her face, she murmurs in a broken voice, "K-Kula."

The Highschool Students stop and stare, muttering in their little groups as the cops attempt to push the surges back. Bodies. So many bodies. Ripped apart, shred and mutilated in such horrible fashions. The scene is an area of blood, of carnage. Swarming with police. "Third time this month," One cop says to a rookie, staring at one of the mangled bodies. School grounds, too. Getting closer and closer to the school itself, these attacks are getting... Horrendously confident. Cheerleaders. Three of them. Coupled with three guys. It was obvious what they were up to, but their night of teenage drama came to an abrupt end. Some tried to say it was an animal attacks. Others... A group of crazed killers. There were even murmurs of 'Sylar', but that disappeared long ago. Beneath the dark, bruised skies - beneath the threat of rain, - somebody begins to breathe. The body crumpled against the fence shivers and, raising a hand missing three fingers, the cheerleader croaks, "Somebody..."  
"She's alive!"  
Paramedics rush to the broken, severely hurt girl almost instantly. Her blonde hair is matted with blood, one of her eyes missing and her face the image of savagery. It's Peter who kneels besides her, looking into the face of the dying girl. The uniform shred and, as another paramedic desperately straps the oxygen mask to her face, he spots the movement in the trees. Just that flash. The whip of clothing.

"Five dead bodies were found at the scene, and cheerleader Maxine Melbrook is currently in intensive car. The police are currently investigating many leads -"  
Claire reaches up and turns off the TV. Cheerleaders are enough to remind her of something that seems so long ago, and she simply rakes a hand through the just-below-the-shoulder length gold hair. She's so all-American, pretty faced girl. But with a heart so passionate and core so dark it would take your very breath away. She's unsure why she's been watching these cases for so long, so intensely. It's been, what? Three years since the Carnival incident. Three years and she's slid into this life where people like her are no longer saw as a threat. But there's still that deep feeling in the pit of her stomach, where everything is missing. Gently, smoothing out her clothes, she reclines into the couch. When she left that all, she moved to this apartment of flats. Working as a Waitress whilst she studies, trying to forget the awful 'Ferris Girl' name. But... Even though she's loved by most there, the images of that night trapped beneath the earth, watching her Father starving for breath... Or Sylar, cutting off her scalp, or when he pressed his mouth against her own just to see into head. Anger. Claire pushes the memories away and springs up, pulling a jumper on over her head. "Milk," She mutters, massaging her temple as she heads to the door, "I always forget milk."

This apartment is tall and dimly lit; the grey light of day filters through the terrible windows. It's not much, but Claire can find some solace here. Even though the people downstairs play really loud, weird music and tend to have sex really loudly at three AM, she likes it here. Today, Saturday, is the best day. Most of the time she goes to see her Dad. She might later, depending on if she can fix the shower - as she closes the door to her apartment behind her, locks it, she hears somebody coming up the stairs. So she pauses, hand flexing when she allows her gaze to drop down the staircase. There's a grunt as somebody heaves a weight and, a shadow cast against the already gloomy wall, Claire tenses. Every muscle in her body ready, eyes narrowed.

A male comes around the corner, lifting his gaze to the figure who looms over him on a higher stair. Framed in the grey glow of the day Claire clenches her teeth, expression wild, "You." She utters, voice barely a whisper. Gabriel Gray looks up at Claire, supporting a tall woman with one arm. "Claire," He says, the dark eyes lacking their evil flash.

They all think he's changed. Well, most of them. That night at the Carnival? He hadn't killed Doyle, as much as she wouldn't have minded him doing so. He let him live. He wanted to be a Hero. But, in her heart, she doesn't believe he's changed. But there's a woman who seems to be lacking any conscious mind hanging from his arm. **"Please,"** He says again, taking a pace towards her, **"She lives in the apartment next door."**


	2. Here We Go Again

**"Who is she?"** Claire snaps as Gabriel - no, _Sylar _Claire, he's_ Sylar_ - easily unlocks the door's shoddy lock. Inside, this woman's apartment is sparse. Bare, even. Just a couch, coffee table, and photographs all over the walls. With apparent ease Gabriel lays the female on the couch, turning to face Claire, **"Her name is Kula,"**  
**"You know her?!"**  
**"She asked me to fix her clock, Claire. I merely know her name."** Gabriel replies, arching an eyebrow at the blonde. Always so snappy, but he doesn't find that surprising at all. He did cut off the top of her head after all. Anyway. Striding towards the wall he gestures to the multitude of pictures - most of them are of landscapes, but a precious few have been framed and placed on the dresser. In front of the clock he had fixed so easily.** "From the small conversation I had, she's a traveler. But she didn't talk, but when she did it was usually a lie."**  
Claire slowly joins Gabriel before the dresser, eyeing the more personal photos. This Kula? A strange-looking female. Her hair is a light pink colour, a heavy fringe falls over her eyes and the rest falls to just below her chest. By the looks of the photos she's a drinker, enjoys her cigarettes and solemnly smiles. There's only one photo in which she smiles. A girl with dark hair is stood at her side, smiling meekly before a city Sunset, leaning against Kula as she wraps her long arm about her shoulders.** "Who's that?"** Claire asks, looking up at Gabriel. But the taller male simply picks up the picture; Angela Petrelli gave him the lovely ability to see the history of any object he touches. But the frame has no memory. The glass restricts him from the photograph and, just as he considers breaking the frame, Kula stirs.

Claire instantly darts behind the wall that separates the living space from the kitchen - Gabriel stares at her as if she's the crazy one, before she frantically motions for him to join her. When he does he asks in a low tone, "Why are we hiding? I did find her passed out on the sidewalk today. I'm hardly -"  
**"****_Shh_****. Something's not right,"** Claire hisses, indicating to the kitchen side. From this angle the horrendous splatter of blood can be seen. Scarlet in the light and thick, diluted in places as if somebody had desperately tried to wash it away. There are droplets all over the floor, over the table. After he's noted this Gabriel extends a hand, gently brushing the table's surface.  
_A girl's hand clutches to the table, covered with blood, the nails long and pointed. She's muttering for Kula, shivering as her nails leave deep grooves in the wood._  
**"Somebody was here,"** He murmurs to Claire, peering around the wall when Kula's phone begins to vibrate, **"And they were looking for her. It's a good thing they didn't find her by the looks of things..."**

Kula slowly sits up, her head thudding with the aftermath of a night drinking whiskey. Frowning she rakes a hand through her hair, before her gaze turns. Blue. Cornflower blue and framed with heavy eyeliner; lightly tanned skin and high cheekbones, Kula is instantly imposing. She stands with ease, and Claire can only note that she's wearing very similar boots to Gabriel. Serial killer boots as she dubbed them. The woman is clad in tight jeans and a leather jacket, the shoulders lined with studs. Beneath this, Claire assumes she isn't wearing much else. In a quick motion she snatches up the phone, flipping it open,** "'Ello?"** She gruffs, rubbing the back of her neck.  
After a moment her expression changes, her eyes widening a fraction,** "I was out - yeah, drinking. ... What..."** Her head turns and, staring at the bloody kitchen, it becomes very clear that Kula is stressed. **"Ophi?"** She snaps, before looking at the phone. The call's been terminated. "Fuck." The curse is a growl as she steps through the opening into the kitchen, hurling the phone against the wall. Claire winces; Gabriel feels fear radiate through her as Kula turns. The blue eyes flash when she spots them - instantly her hand raises, and Claire feels she can't move. She's one of them.

**"Why are you in my kitchen?"** She snarls, eyeing them behind her hair, the raised hand slowly tightening._ Slyar's power_. Gabriel simply lowers his dark eyes and says, "Maybe because you were passed out on the sidewalk this morning, and I thought you'd be more content to wake up at home."  
Kula relaxes a little, before she looks to Claire, "I know him. I don't know you... Hang on. You're the chick from next door." Her eyes narrow and, releasing them from her hold, she slowly turns to the table, plucks up a TV remote and flicks on the little TV on the side. The news channel. The very same Claire has been watching - very faintly, Gabriel swears he can hear that faint ticking, but he pushes it aside when he spots Kula's hand clench, "Something wrong?"  
**"Apart from strangers in my house and my... Friend missing, hysterical on the phone? I'm just fucking great, thanks."** Instantly she turns around, headed for the door. Claire frowns, following at a close pace, **"Hey, Kula?"**  
**"You know my -"**  
**"He told me. Was your friend killed? Was she a cheerleader?"**  
Kula laughs. She smirks at Claire and, turning to face her briefly, she says, **"She's not a cheerleader, chick. Why're you so interested, huh?"** Claire finds herself inches from Kula's face; she smells of cigarettes and perfume. The blue eyes meet the green and, raising her hand to hold Claire's jaw, she mutters, **"I know Mr. Gray somewhat. You're my neighbor."**  
**"Listen,"** Claire says, a little breathless from being caught off guard,** "If you're looking for something at that place, my Uncle is there. He's a nurse, I could..."**  
**"Alright. You're useful. Off we pop,"** Kula releases Claire and shoves her towards the door. Claire grumbles a little, but finds something warming in her chest. Purpose, maybe. She's going to help somebody. Somebody like her.  
**"You."** Kula says, turning her head to look at Gabriel. She watches him arch his eyebrow a little, a small smile curving the side of his mouth - the guy who fixes watches? She's not stupid. **"With us."**


	3. Ophelia

Peter's expression creases when the rain begins to fall. He is about to leave - _you can't save corpses, after all_ - when he spots three figures. Claire. Gabriel and... God knows. A rather angry-looking female. He's surprised to see Claire and Gabriel together; he'd spent five years, mentally, trapped in that place with Gabriel. And he knows he has changed, but others... Are always cautious. Claire looks like she's ready to kill somebody, so Peter guesses she's uncomfortable.** "Claire?"** He confirms, pausing besides the ambulance,** "What're you doing here?"**  
Truth is, she doesn't really know. So, pulling one of her usual smiles, she says, **"Uh, just -"**  
Kula spares Claire the trouble and, stepping forwards, she produces a photograph from her jacket. It's the girl from the photo. Already, Gabriel is wondering why she carries said photograph. For some reason, he doesn't think this situation is new to her. Kula presents Peter with this battered photograph, saying,** "Have you seen her? At all?"** The nurse gently takes the photograph, briefly glancing up at the three faces who watch him intently. The girl in the photograph couldn't be a day older than Claire - her hair is black, falling to her collar bones. Her eyes? Darker still. They watch the photographer intently, eyes wide and expression surprised - a photo taken suddenly.** "Who is she?"** Peter asks, looking behind him at the scene of slaughter.  
**"My niece,"** Kula says, tone sharp. And instantly Gabriel knows she's lying. But he doesn't say anything, merely watches Peter squint through the rain as he shakes his head. **"I haven't seen her, I'm sorry. Is she a student here?"**  
**"Uh, yeah,"** Kula replies anxiously, plucking back the photograph, "**She's an anxious girl. She would of ran off - I live next to blondie here. Give her a call if you see anything."** And with that, she heads off back to the car.

Watching her go Peter arches his eyebrows, looking to Claire for an answer. They're all thinking the same thing - that was more than a little suspicious. "This is the third time this month," Peter explains to Gabriel and Claire, "The attacks on students are getting worse. This is the worse I've seen so far - a human couldn't do this,"  
"Or maybe," Gabriel says, arching an eyebrow, "It's somebody like us?"  
Silence. The trio exhange looks, and Claire frowns deeply.

Kula had given them a lift back, simply because she'd dragged them out to some extent. Gabriel simply asks to be dropped off at a random street, and Claire watched his dark figure retreat into the crowds of people with dark eyes.

Later on the evening, Claire has retired to watching TV again. She's frowning, blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she leans forwards. As she reaches for the remote she hears a sudden knock at the door and, almost jumping a mile out of her skin, she raises slowly. When she opens the door a Kula is revealed, clad in PJ bottoms and a black tank top. In her mouth there's a cigarette, and in her hand there's a carton of milk. Claire frowns, **"Kula?"**  
**"I heard you muttering about milk this morning. ... It's not going to kill you. Do you want it or not?"**  
Claire blinks a few times before opening the door, saying, **"Come in?"** Kula simply wanders in, to the fridge, places in the milk and moves to head out again. Obviously not a social person. When she's sober at least.** "Hey, wait,"** Claire says, sighing when Kula moves to shut the door behind her, **"Do you know how to work the ovens? They're ..."**  
**"Gas? Yeah. Takes a while to get used to it. What y'trying to cook?"**  
**"Anything, really. Living off microwave meals isn't good for you."**  
Kula snorts, agreeing. She wanders back across the threshold, into Claire's kitchen. This place is much nicer than her little room. Claire's actually bothered with her possessions - it even seems brighter. But Kula has no time to muse. **"You're not one of those weird vegetarians are you?"**  
Claire laughs a little, moving to join her,** "God no."**

As always, Claire is sat on the floor to eat. Her food on the coffee table in front of her, eagerly spooning mouthfuls of macaroni cheese into her mouth. Kula is sprawled over the couch, idly playing with her food. Looking away from the TV Claire asks, **"What do you do, Kula?"**  
**"Me?**"_ Apart from get hideously drunk all the time?_ **"I'm a mechanic."** A mechanic for a small firm, but the guys seem to love her. Simply because she keeps them in line. And she has a nice rear apparently. **"You're a waitress down the street from where I work,"** Kula continues, sitting up and sliding a cigarette into her mouth, **"You still studying?"**  
**"Yeah,"** Claire replies, finishing the last of the pasta, **"I plan to get a degree in phycology."**  
**"Fair 'nough."** Kula stands, taking Claire's plate and wandering off into the kitchen. She may be fierce, rude, but Claire... Likes this woman. She must only be into her early twenties, and there's something very raw about her. Something hidden. Watching over the edge of the couch, she watches the cutlery moving about as Kula washes up. Telekinesis. Must be handy.

**"Right,**" Kula emerges back into the living space,** "I'm off to bed."** For a moment she looks down at Claire through the haze of cigarette smoke, eyebrow arched, **"You workin' tomorrow?"**  
**"Yeah,**" Claire exhales, standing up and switching off the TV. Before she can answer Kula opens the front door with a flick of her hand, saying, **"If you're awake at seven I'll give you a lift. If you're late, best be walking."** And with that, she simply leaves. As Claire locks the door she wonders about the girl in Kula's photographs. They're certainly not related; it doesn't take a genius to work that out. But Kula obviously does care - otherwise she wouldn't of made pasta, or offered Claire a ride to work.

A shower, and changed into bed clothes, Claire slides beneath her covers around the same time that Kula looks out from her balcony. She leans there, arms folded on the rail and cigarette trailing smoke. Her eyes sweep the city, peculiar hair tousled by the breeze. At this late hour the City breathes a whole new kind of life - it shivers, it breathes. The night brings out the worst and the best in people. And Kula can only hope that somebody finds her; when Ophi had rang earlier, she had heard the panic in her voice. But she won't come back. Until she thinks she's safe. A deep sigh escapes Kula.

Elsewhere, Gabriel is wandering towards his own place. He's taken to living in an apartment a small distance away from the hospital; he can't find it within himself to leave. Though he'll often hear that subtle ticking sound, he's determined to fight this hunger. Every day it gets easier. He moves quickly, boots making little noise on the sidewalk as he heads home - he's all set to call it a night, when he spots the flash of ambulance lights. Without much thought he heads in the general direction, wondering if Peter's about. The scene is a brutal car crash, and paramedics are desperately attempting to free a woman trapped in her car. However, it's the movement behind the scene that makes him wonder. A flash of somebody darting away -

He doesn't even hesitate. He's walking briskly into the dark opening of the alley, eyes scanning the gloom. This extended ability of hearing picks up the very slightest movement; somebody smaller than him brushes against a chain link fence. So, Gabriel pursues, listening when hears somebody hit the floor. Giving up. When he turns the corner he pauses, spotting the small figure huddled down against the floor. She's skeletal, her flesh so white against dark clothes and hair. Sat against the chain link fence and wall, head pressed to her knees and hands clutching her knees - the smell in the air is one of death. And fear. Gabriel approaches slowly, raising a hand in a slight gesture.

The girl's head snaps upwards and Gabriel freezes. Large, black eyes framed with thick lashes fixate upon him, and her porcelain face is ruined with splatters of blood. Even through the drizzles of rain create a slight curtain in the area, the panic in her face is so real. It's the look that Gabriel knows very well; it's the fear of yourself, not the other person. He's cornered somebody like his former self, and he can see a lust deep in her eyes.** "Easy,"** He says, slowly crouching down before her. At her level he can see how frantically her eyes move. How long her nails are; pointed, clutching her knees so tightly. She's bleeding. Knuckles white and face colourless.** "I'm Gabriel,"** He says, extending a hand to the frightened girl, **"Why don't you come out of the rain."**  
Very slowly, every motion pained, she extends her hand to his own. For a little while she doesn't speak, she just looks at him as he helps her stand. It's only when she's allowed him to lead her down the street, away from the paramedics, that she replies softly, **"I'm Ophelia."**


	4. The Sound of a Ticking Clock

For the entire journey, Ophelia doesn't say a word. She simply walks besides Gabriel with her head down, hiding her hands in her pockets and head down. If this would have been just a few years ago, she'd be dead. He knows she has an ability simply by looking at her - the way her eyes dart over every detail, almost out of fear. There's something about the way she moves; she weaves and darts, as if she's used to moving through crowds without being seen.** "Did you get lost?"** He asks, genuinely. She just nods, and he has that shiver. She's lying. He can't blame her, either.

Gabriel's apartment is on the top floor of a two-floor apartment. Entering the first door he's incredibly quiet, knowing the guy who lives downstairs wouldn't appreciate being woken up at this godforsaken hour. He leads the quiet Ophelia up the stairs, to the floor he lives on. As predicted, everything is pretty modern. A complete contrast to the block of apartments Claire lives in. Dripping rainwater and diluted blood on the floor, Ophelia stands in the doorway awkwardly, her hair hanging over her face. Gabriel raises his hand and the door closes, untouched. He watches Ophelia's eyes widen and, looking up at him sharply, something short of fear crosses her gaze. **"It's alright,"** He says, shrugging out of his wet coat, **"You're not alone."**

His phone is vibrating, but he really can't be bothered to reach over and answer it. But it persists. Eventually, Peter reaches out of bed sluggishly and picks up his phone, answering idly,** "Hello?"** A voice answers, obviously hushed, from the other end. "Hello, Peter, sorry for calling so late." It's ...** "Gabriel?"** Peter murmurs, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Sitting up he rubs the back of his neck, asking, **"What is it?"**  
**"You know the girl who Kula was looking for?"**  
**"Kula -"**  
**"The rather irritable woman. Pink hair."**  
**"Ah, yeah?"**  
**"I found her. I think you should take a look at her in the Morning."**  
**"Why? What's wrong?"**  
Gabriel glances around the archway from the kitchen, looking at Ophelia. Despite being alone, she still looks awfully awkward. She showered almost willingly, and he could of swore her skin was inflamed in places. Probably from trying to frantically scrub the blood from her skin, as if it could purge her soul. She's bitten her nails right down to the quick, but they seem to be growing already. Black hair wild around her face, slightly wavy in places, her fringe falling over her face if she doesn't push it out of the way - he's leant her one of his shirts. It's over sized, almost to her knees and the sleeves past her hands. Oddly, Ophelia sits on the floor, transfixed as she watches the news. **"She's got an ability,"** Gabriel replies, returning to leaning on the kitchen wall, **"I'm not sure how many or what they do, but you may want to come take a look at her in the morning..."**  
**"Sure thing,"** Peter replies with a yawn. He terminates the call, flopping back on to his pillow.

**"Ophelia?"**  
The girl's head snaps around, eyes wide. She flinches. Gabriel approaches her slowly, careful not to make a sudden movement. Eventually he sits besides her on the floor, his hair still tousled from the rain. She stares at him, leaning away a little. **"Yes?"** She utters. Her voice is very pronounced, as if she comes from somewhere else. **"Who are you?"**  
**"Who..."** She frowns, obviously unsure of what that question means. Gabriel tilts his head a fraction, a small smile lifting the side of his mouth. **"Well. I'm Gabriel Gray, I fix watches as a job. I have many abilities, but my first was... Knowing how things work. I'm thirty years old. And I like peach pie."** Gesturing, he indicates for her to follow the same process. But she lowers her head, idly picking at her rapidly growing fingernails. However, he's patient. A trait he's learned to keep through the years. **"I'm Ophelia,"** She begins, lifting her head as she thinks, **"I can't remember my last name, and I can't remember how old I am. I live with Kula, and... And I have two abilities."**  
The ticking of a clock. Gabriel pushes it aside, leaning closer to her.** "Can I see?"** The ghosts of his past scream. This is as if he is about to murder her; cut open her head and examine her brain. But he's simply curious. **"Abilities..."** Ophelia chokes, shivering. Slowly she turns to look at him, pulling up the sleeve of the shirt. Her arm is littered with scars, self-inflicted. **"I can heal, but... But it scars sometimes. It scars if I'm not using the other... Ability."** Slowly she lowers her sleeve, folding her hands in her lap. Gently, a gesture almost like his former self, he places a hand on her leg, **"It's alright, Ophelia. What's your other ability?**"  
Very slowly she raises her head, and Gabriel hears that ticking again. Her black eyes invert in colour. Her sclera turn black, and her irises turn white. Her body shakes beneath Gabriel's hand and, biting down the pain in her throat, Ophelia tries desperately to control what's happening to her.

Gabriel grasps her shoulders tightly, watching her squeeze her eyes shut.** "Ophelia? Are you alright?"**  
Her head jerks upwards suddenly, and she grips his arm tightly. When Gabriel looks down he watches her nails grow to points in a matter of seconds; he stares into her changing eyes, watching her pupils fade away. From her trembling mouth he can just about see her teeth sharpening, shifting. **"Run,"** She breathes,** "Run~"**

**"Come on, Blondie, I ain't waiting all day.**" Kula says, shutting her car door. The pick-up rumbles, humming with life as Claire opens the door and swings herself up into the seat. Kula nods and, shifting into gear, she pulls out on to the road. **"Thanks for this,"** Claire says, looking out of the window.  
**"It's nothin',"** Kula replies, the cigarette held in her lips moving with her speech, **"You came with me to look for Ophi, that's enough to ask for."**  
**"Is... Ophi your roomate?"**  
**"You could say that, Blondie."** Kula replies absently, rounding the corner. They travel in silence for ten minutes, until Kula pulls up outside the Cafe in which Claire works. **"Go on, I'll pick y'up later."**  
**"You sure?"**  
**"Yeah - now go on. Shoo."**  
Thanking Kula again, Claire slides out of the truck and stands on the sidewalk to watch Kula drive off. She could almost believe life's about to get better, when her Uncle almost ploughes into her. Peter staggers back then, looking at Claire, he says, "**Ah, sorry. I'm on my way to Gabriel's - he's found Ophelia.**" Peter doesn't even need to ask if Claire wants to come with him; she's already right behind him on the street.

The apartment is quiet. Deathly silent. Claire and Peter slowly climb up the stairs, listening for anything. Something. They move through into Gabriel's floor and Claire can only note the devastation. **"Oh my god,"** She utters. A window has been shattered, the TV thrown across the room and splintered wood scattered about. **"I don't think Sylar would do this to his own apartment,"** Claire mutters, thinking aloud. As they move through the rubble Peter frowns, looking at the blood on the floor. Gabriel. He rushes into the kitchen, finding Gabriel on his back, obviously unconscious. There's blood everywhere. But, obviously, he can regenerate. So they're spared the image of carnage. **"Gabriel,"** Peter says, crouching besides him, **"****_Gabriel_****?"**  
Claire appears and, taking great delight, she pours a glass of water over his face. Gabriel jolts, taking a breath. **"Peter,"** He breathes, sitting up. Despite lacking a shirt, he obviously doesn't mind. Standing he just looks at Claire, knowing she's going to be hostile. "Where's Ophelia?" Peter asks, pointing to the destruction of the apartment. It takes him a few moments to register what's happened before he leaps to his feet, a hand pressed to his chest.  
_The creature slowly ran it's tongue up his throat, a dark sound coming from its throat. Gabriel was losing blood rapidly, and he could feel his heart hammering. The creature looming above him suddenly plunged a hand into his chest, bones splintering beneath the pressure._  
"Check downstairs," He says suddenly, turning his head and headed to the stairs. In one move Peter grabs his wrist, saying, "What happened here, Gabriel?"  
Tilting his head and perking an eyebrow, Gabriel replies, **"I asked her to show me her abilities."**  
Almost automatically Claire pulls the gun from her inner thigh, frowning, **"What ****_is_**** her ability?"** She asks sharply, flicking off the safety.  
**"Well I can hear her downstairs, so you'll see very soon."**

The three of them burst into the lower floor, Peter and Claire both brandishing guns. Guns. Humans favourite weapon - Gabriel simply saunters in behind them, looking around. His own apartment looks like a Disney castle in comparison. Everything here has been obliterated, and there's blood on every square inch of the kitchen. The body. Peter fights the urge to check if the man's still breathing - because that would be ridiculous. His throat has been shred open, his chest opened. One of his arms torn from his body and is lying among the destruction; his legs bent and twisted, bone protruding out of the flesh.  
Claire is about to leave when a shadow passes over the scene. Somebody appears in the opening from kitchen to living space; Ophelia. She's still dressed in Gabriel's shirt, but her entire body is covered in blood. Claire takes aim and instinctively fires, her eyes widening when Ophelia hits the floor. **"Claire!"** Peter exclaims, looking at her. His niece is a killer. She too is surprised and, turning to look at the body, she feels familiarity run through her when the body twitches. **"She can regenerate,"** Gabriel mutters, watching Ophelia raise to her feet.  
**"How come she's covered in scars?"** Peter asks, not taking his eyes off of the creature.  
**"Apparently, she can heal without scar when this ability is in play."** He explains, watching Ophelia's eyes. In a swift motion she pulls the bullet from her chest, discarding it upon the floor. Ophelia's peculiar eyes settle on Claire and, upper lip drawn back into a snarl, she releases an animalistic hiss. **"****_Cheerleader_****~"**  
**"She can talk?!"** Claire exclaims, readying to take aim again. There's no response; Ophelia lunges. Another shot is fired but Ophelia's body merely jerks; fresh blood splatters across the floor and, abruptly, Gabriel lunges himself. His body collides with Ophelia's and, holding him against his chest, he grits his teeth. One of his hands holds her wrists, the other covering her eyes until her body stops shaking. Beneath his grasp he feels Ophelia's legs sink - he simply lifts her, pulling her up into his arms, looking at Claire with a terribly expectant gaze. **"I don't think you'll be treating her how you treated me."**  
**"You deserved it,**" Claire bites, despite feeling Peter's hand clutch her shoulder, **"She could endanger us, Sylar! I didn't jump from a ferris wheel to prove everybody right."**  
**"She needs help,"** Gabriel says calmly, meeting Peter's gaze. **"Why don't you go to work, Claire."** And with a sly glance at her infuriated expression, he slides out of the front door.

Peter takes Claire to work in a stoney silence. Once there Peter looks down at her; looks at the worry in her eyes. Gently he holds her face, saying, **"I know you dislike him, Claire. But I trust him. So you'll have to trust me."**

Gabriel slides into the back of the cab, ignoring the look on the drivers' face when he spots the state of Ophelia. He calmly states the address of where Kula lives, before staring out of the window for the drive.

And all he can hear is the ticking of a clock.


	5. Coming Undone

She enjoys her job to a certain extent; probably because she doesn't have to deal with real people. Just mechanisms and leaking oil - casting a glance outside to the hazy day, Kula checks the clock. A couple of hours left. The last dregs of the storm clouds are fading away, but still threatening over the City. She rolls up the sleeves of the blue overalls and ties her hair back into a pony tail. When she looks up there's a figure stood in the entrance to the mechanic garage. She's got hands on her hips and a determined expression on her face. She's... Very early, too. **"Blondie,"** Kula says, raising to her full height. Arching an eyebrow she asks, **"What's up?"**

**"They found Ophelia. Gabriel's headed for the apartment -"**

They're in Kula's truck in a matter of seconds; Claire is still groping for her seat-belt when the truck swerves around the corner. Holding on for dear life her eyes widen a little. **"Ophelia called me a cheerleader,"** Claire says carefully as they hurtle down the road, **"She knows me?" **Very briefly Kula glances at Claire, staring her up and down. When her blue eyes return to the road her knuckles whiten on the wheel, but she doesn't answer.** "Kula!"** Claire snaps, at the end of her tether already. The older female simply shoots Claire a daggering look; the blonde swears she could have seen pain there briefly.

The truck mounts the curb but Kula really couldn't care less - she leaps out of the truck with ease and bolts towards the apartment block, searching her overalls for the keys. Claire comes after her, cursing the nature of these people when it comes to panic - the elevator still isn't functioning. So they're reduced to clambering up the stairs rapidly, what with Kula almost falling over her own feet._ Keys_? Why would_ she_ need keys? With a casual flick of her hand the door is thrown open, almost torn from its hinges as Kula and Claire explode into the room. What they find is almost disappointing.

Peter looks up from the book he's reading, arching his eyebrows at Kula and Claire's sudden entrance. It's Kula who marches in first, obviously hunting for something. Claire slowly slides in after, looking around cautiously.** "Peter?"** Obviously looking for explanation, she moves closer. Her Uncle puts down the book and, making sure that Kula can't hear him, he says,** "Ophelia's not dangerous unless she's provoked. And I have a nasty feeling that Kula's the whole reason behind -"  
"The attacks? At the school?"** Claire murmurs, staring at the kitchen, **"But she seems so... Protective of her."  
**Before Peter can answer Kula reappears, flanked by Gabriel.** "Where is she?!"** She snaps, unzipping the front of her overalls sluggishly. Peter stands to face her, saying, **"She said you had no food in the place, so she went to get some."  
"Alone!"  
"Yup,"** Peter says, gesturing for Kula to sit, **"And I think you've got some truth to be telling us, Miss Rikache."**

They debate. For quite some time. Kula tells them that she can't trust them; Gabriel tells her that he was - was, - Sylar, but the reaction is dull. She knows, apparently. Peter explains about the company, about what happened - Kula simply nods, as if she's still thinking. It's only when Claire sits down besides her, puts a hand on her knee and tells her that she's among people like herself, that Kula relents. She lifts a hand, summoning her packet of battered cigarettes, flicks a match, and begins.

Meanwhile, Ophelia is stood in a little convenience store. After Gabriel had taken her to the apartment, she'd showered again, got dressed, and said she needed to get some things. As if she'd had no memory of what had happened._ But she really does._ So, naturally, Gabriel had taken the opportunity to be nosy. He called Peter, of whom was there shortly, and they unearthed some things that lead them to question Kula. To question a photograph. A battered, black and white photograph, clearly featuring Ophelia.  
Photographs of Ophelia clad in finery, her hair to her waist. Stood, smiling, with a man in a top hat. Something taken in the 1900's - sat on a horse, her dress dark as her hair and staring off distantly. Peter had looked at Gabriel, of whom had arched his eyebrows in response.

Anyway. Ophelia carries the bundle of items towards the checkout, being so very cautious not to drop anything. Eventually she places the cluster of things at the till, her hair a little wild around her face. The clerk knows Ophelia, and just smiles at her as she fumbles around in her pockets. She always seems to buy the same things - pasta, milk, and baking ingredients. Every time.** "That'll be -"**

She's gone. As soon as the things have been packed into the brown bag she's gone, leaving the exact money for the clerk. He simply rubs the back of his neck, smiles and puts the money into the till.

In Ophelia's mind, she has two objectives. Survive, and please Kula. The very first thing she remembers is waking up in that room, her hair to her hips and body covered in dirt and grime. As far as she's concerned, Kula is her adoptive 'parent', but she's always called her Kula. Or '_Kula-Kool_'. She imagines Kula like some form of soft drink; the pink fizzy stuff that she sometimes buys. Maybe she'll make pie. Kula likes pie. She's already halfway up the flight of stairs, when she hears the voices. They're talking.

**"Ophelia is her name. But that's about the only thing the same,"** She exhales a plume of smoke, **"From my knowledge, she was first around in the 1800's. Well, that's the earliest photograph or evidence I have of her."**  
**"You were... Tracking her?"** Claire asks, almost dumbfounded. Kula simply shrugs, before continuing, **"I met Ophelia when I was thirteen in Odessa, Texas. She was always around school, but I wasn't ever sure if sh'was a student. She'd just appear out of thin air."** Already, Peter, Gabriel and Claire are exchanging looks. Odessa, Texas. The home of_ the_ Cheerleader. Swallowing thickly, unsure of where this is going, Claire urges Kula on. The pink-haired female takes a drag of her cigarette, continuing in a dull tone, **"She never changed."** _She was the only friend I had_. A dark expression slowly consumes her sharp features, eyes narrowing when she raises a hand. On the wall she creates a mark - the mark of the old company.** "She drew that. Almost everyday. I asked her who her family was, where she was from - she could never remember. We stayed in Texas, and I knew she was like me. Us, for that matter. She had no memory, just like now."** Abruptly, her gaze flickers upwards. She stubs out the cigarette into the ashtray, leaning forwards to look at Claire, **"She loved 9th Wonders, and that's how she knew you. That's how ****_I_**** know you."**

The three fall silent, staring at Kula. All of this is old bones; the company died long ago, but its effects are lingering on at a terrible rate.** "So, you know everything about us?"** Claire asks, voice hushed. In response Kula chuckles, standing up. She shrugs again, staring at the photographs of the landscapes on the wall. **"Obviously, not everythin'."** Kula gruffs, pulling her hair from the ponytail, **"But I do know that you made homecoming Queen, 'cause Ophelia voted to you. Seeing as she attended the same damn school for over ten years, you should be pleased, Blondie. She knew Gabriel - Sylar, - through that damned comic too. And you, Peter,"** She turns her head, observing them. However, her smirk vanishes slowly. Her expression dulls and she stares at Claire, saying,** "Until she had her memory erased. Again. It took me two years to find her. I left Texas, I traveled all over the fucking place. Following trails of murders. And I found her."** Pointing at one landscape, a small cafe in the middle of nowhere, she grumbles, "**Of course, everybody there was dead or bleedin' out. But you can't mistake Ophi -"** Her head turns again, and she narrows her eyes at Peter, **"And, other than that? I have no fucking idea about her."**

Leaving Kula to clean her kitchen of blood, Peter retires to Claire's apartment with her. As soon as the door's shut she whirls, looking at Peter fiercely. **"Memory erased? That sounds familiar -"**  
**"It does,"** Peter says, running his hand over the previous night's stubble, **"This always comes to bite us in the ass, Claire."  
"Don't I know it,"** She sighs, before listening closely. Somebody's coming up the stairs. Glancing to Peter she says, **"We'll get to the bottom of this."  
"Like everything else? Why don't we just let it go, Claire. It's years ago -"  
"Murders. You heard what Kula said! We saw it with our own eyes, Peter. What she did to Gabriel and that guy downstairs, I... She has no idea."**

**"Kula-Kool?"**  
A voice in the cooridoor.  
**"Kula...?**" Ophelia frowns a little, knocking on the door gently.

**"You call me if anything comes up,"** Peter says, shrugging into his coat, **"Alright?"**  
Claire nods, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear, and allowing Peter to leave. She slumps into the couch, making a note to ring her work place in the morning. For now, she needs to get her head around this madness.


	6. Memory Fragments

Kula allows Gabriel to stay in her little apartment, seeing as Ophelia successfully ruined his own. However, the pink-haired female can't be bothered to stay up. She's had enough; her tolerance level has decreased rapidly over the course of the evening. Retiring with a packet of cigarettes and irritable nature she disappears into her room, leaving Ophelia with Gabriel. Again.

She's so restless. Like a small, trapped animal. Every little motion she catches out of the corner of her eye; reclining on the couch, clad in some clothing that Kula found - seeing as she wears mostly guy clothes, apart from those skin-tight jeans, it wasn't a problem - Gabriel hears her slight motions from even a distance away. Maybe he'd been dozing, who knows. The night has been plunged into a velvet darkness, the sky glassy as the storm clouds clear - the starlight, from this height, can be seen above the hum of light pollution over the city. Slowly, Gabriel sits up. Gently his bare feet hit the floor and, turning his head, he watches the shadow of Ophelia flick about the kitchen.

Slowly, as if not to alert the female, Gabriel lifts a hand. With such ease of the mind it slowly opens, revealing Ophelia's work. She's... Cooking. Moving in a mechanical fashion, her movements quick. But as if they've been repeated. Eyes distant and the long, almost skeletal hands moving simply from memory. Once again she's savagely cut her nails down to the skin beneath, but there's evidence of healing. Gabriel knows what she's making; the memories of Elle suddenly cut him deep. The image of the blonde's smile wanders past his memory as Ophelia turns around. But the coal-black eyes render his memories useless for a moment. Those eyes. Killer eyes.

**"Peach pie?"** He asks, moving to sit at the circular table. Keeping his voice down due to the sleeping Kula, Gabriel watches Ophelia gather her senses. "Yeah," She utters, voice nothing but a breath, **"You... Like pie?"**  
**"I love pie."**  
She's simple, but not_ that_ simple. The way she frantically cleans after herself, as if for fear she'd leave a mark. A trace. Once the entire side of the kitchen is clean she pauses, thinking, before looking at Gabriel, **"You remind me of somebody."**  
Instantly, his interest piques. Head lifting a little he casts his dark eyes upon her, the shadows only enhancing his sinister features. The girl simply watches him, absorbs his image - one of her hands is on the table and, for a moment, Gabriel remembers. He can access memories. Subconsciously his hand wanders to her own and, for a moment, his brain tells him he shouldn't ought to. But it's too late. When the girl lowers her dark eyes to his own he's suddenly lost to a memory that _Sylar_ would take delight in.

_She's running. Running as if it could save her - running through a grand house, her dark hair threatening to escape the enclosed style. Wide, frightened eyes, her mouth parted in hurried breaths as she darts for some form of exit. She had never wanted to be married away from her little country house; the family lay dead and it was all she could do. With shaking hands she lifts the skirts of her dress to move faster, but it's just a moment's too late. Her foot catches the hem and, tumbling, she crashes to the floor in a heap. A typical 1800's garment, darker colours than average. Her pale skin drains of all colour - such a sweet face, too. _  
_He - her apparent husband, - rounds the corner. He had been so lovely at first, so caring. But he drank and drank until the monster in him breathed. She'd been so ready for this, believing she could live the life of a wife. But, at roughly eighteen years old, she was so unprepared. And when she had saw her apparent husband bed another woman, she was unsure what to do. But he saw her peek, and from that moment on she became hunted. His hand became a fist, and the smile a grimace. _  
_Slowly she looks back, his shadow falling over her as he finally catches up. A hand seizes her hair and, her face twisted in pain, she claws at his wrists desperately. She can feel it in her chest; her heart begins to thunder and, pleading she attempts to pull herself free. Due to the force her waist-length hair tumbles free, seeming to be a dark shadow itself as she scrambles across the floor. Panic, panic. Her eyes widen and, as her husband comes lumbering after her, she freezes._  
_**"Ophelia! Ignorant - come back here!"**__ He slurs -_  
_Her hands are shaking. Trembling. She looks down to watch her nails lengthen to points again, darkening at her cuticles. _  
**_"Ophelia!"_**  
_Gritting her sharp teeth she suppresses the urge to scream, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could stop what's about to happen._  
**_"Listen to me, or I'll -"_**  
_The threat is lost as she straightens with a dull crunch of the spine, that grimace slowly turning to a grin. Her lashes lift, revealing the inverted eyes. Completely white, pupiless orbs in the black sclera. The husband's hand outstretches and Ophelia spins around, her hand shooting forwards. The claws find his throat, piercing through the flesh in an instant. And as the blood oozes down Ophelia's arm she grins all the more, watching the man gutter and gasp beneath her hand. On the wall their shadows display Ophelia's jaws opening, her laugh when she dives forwards. Blood splatters up the wall when she tears the flesh out of his throat - with a dull thud he drops against the floor, mouth gaping and still alive as the blood drains from his body. The grinning Ophelia places her foot against his head, purring, __**"Sleep well,**_** love**_**."**__ With a brute force she slams her foot against his head, exhaling a sigh of satisfaction when his skull shatters._

Gabriel's eyes snap upwards; Ophelia is inches away from his face, looking at him with white eyes. It's her. The other side of the same coin. The hand beneath his own is clawed again, and Gabriel can only perk a brow at the creature who stares him in the eyes. **"It's considered somewhat rude to peer into anothers' private matters,"** She murmurs, her voice... Different. Well pronounced, every word spoken perfectly. **"It's a reflex,"** Gabriel replies, slowly pulling his hand away. But as soon as his flesh leaves her own and the connection is dropped her whole body twitches. Just once. And her eyes return to normal. Ophelia blinks at how close she is to Gabriel's face and, standing up abruptly, she asks, **"So? You..."**  
**"Pie," Gabriel says with a slight smile, "Definitely."**

They decide to sit out on the balcony. The glassy sky seems so empty - to Gabriel at least. The stars gleam and, though distant, he's distracted by them briefly. Besides him, distracted by a stray thread on her jumper, Ophelia is silent. As always. Merely fiddling with the edge of her grey jumper, head bowed and legs folded beneath her. Pie was finished long ago, evidently. When Gabriel turns his head to glance at Ophelia, he can only wonder what her mind must think about. That memory he'd seen? She obviously has no idea. So, naturally, he's curious. How far can he go. But Gabriel seizes that curious nature instantly; he cannot afford to let himself wander for the sake of his mind. And, by the looks of things, this fragile creature... Is dangerous. So_ delightfully_ dangerous.

**"How long have you been with Kula, then?"** He asks, turning his head to watch her again. She's a little quiet, before she says, **"I think it's about two years now. I can't remember before then?"**  
**"You can't remember? At all?"**  
Slowly, dragging the thread from her jumper, Ophelia says, **"I have memory problems, Mister. But, I remember some things. I remember last night, in your apartment... Well, a little bit. Then I was here."** Her hands flex; a nervous gesture. She was covered in blood, like before. Gabriel catches the frown on her face and asks, a brow perking just a little, **"Did she tell you why you... Have a memory problem?"**  
**"Kula said I have a mental... A mental disorder,"** Ophelia utters, slowly turning over her hands. She stares at her own, long nails, saying, **"But I think she's lying."**  
_I know she's lying._ Gabriel thinks idly, watching Ophelia fiddling with her hands. This girl is so lost, so disconnected without her past. Finally, his curious nature gets the best of him. **"Why do you always wake up covered in blood, somewhere you don't know?"**  
Ophelia's dark eyes focus on him. Totally. The first time she makes eye contact with him completely; he could shiver. Her eyes are unwavering, watching his every move.** "How do you..."**  
**"You killed a man in my downstairs apartment. Hence I'm staying here."**  
**"... But Kula said..."**  
**"Kula's lying."**

Lying? Why would Kula lie to her... Her dark hair falls over her pale features and, looking at the place where her scars are, Ophelia frowns. **"Mister,"** She begins slowly, **"What is your ability?"**  
**"I told you before, I have many -"**  
When Ophelia looks at him again, Gabriel suddenly understands how Claire must view him. Those dark eyes are rendering him speechless. **"You're Sylar."** Ophelia says quietly, her expression blank.  
The blood in his veins runs cold. But he meets her gaze all the same, that slight, sinister smile on his lips, **"I ****_was_****,"** He replies, **"And how did you know...?"**  
**"I remember you,"** Ophelia murmurs, and her eyes glaze. She stares upwards, and Gabriel watches panic flash over her face. Remembering - he remembers the shock, the panic he suffered at the Carnival when he too was reminded what he was. **"The cheerleader,"** Ophelia mutters, lifting her head.** "Texas..."**  
Abruptly, a figure emerges from the dark. She comes out of nowhere, completely silent. In a swift bound she wraps her hand around Ophelia's mouth, the other plunging a syringe into Gabriel's thigh. Through the darkness, the last thing he sees is Kula's glaring eyes, and Ophelia's eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Claire sighs, waiting outside of Kula's door. Maybe she isn't up yet? She tries once more - knocking rapidly on the door, before she gives up and simply walks in. Silence. There's..._ nobody_; no Kula, no Gabriel, no Ophelia. But there's no sign of struggle. Just some clothes missing, and half a peach pie eaten. Instantly, with no thought process, Claire dials for Peter.  
**"They're gone,**" She breathes, turning around,** "They've disappeared."**

Gabriel has no idea where they are; he can faintly hear somebody speaking, very aggressively, in a phone-call But something is still scrambling his abilities something tenfold. Probably the after effects of that horrendous chemical that Kula had pressed against Ophelia's mouth. When he attempts to move Gabriel finds his hands bound behind his back, blind folded and mouth taped. Panic. Something he hasn't felt in so long - as he threatens to struggle he hears Kula's voice, as if from a mile away,** "Stop struggling for god's****_ sake_****."** She snaps; the vehical they're travelling in veers abruptly and she swears. **"You're so desperate for some answers, aren't you? Well aren't we all?"** Besides him, Gabriel feels the slow shifting of somebody stirring. Despite his scrambled mind he knows it's Ophelia; there's a slow grind as her bones set back into place. Behind the tape Ophelia can be heard to mumble, shifting uneasily. Her back's to Gabriel, the hands bound behind her back raking for a purchase; something to seize. The claws chew up the dark interior of the car and, briefly, she snags a hand. In an act of desperation she seizes that hand, and Gabriel takes the opportunity to find some answers for himself. He grasps Ophelia's hand tightly, plunging himself into the darkest regions of her mind.


	7. Ophelia's Memories

_Ophelia is stood in an empty sports gym, clad in a pair of dark jeans and t-shirt. The boots she wears go up to her knees, the shirt exposing the hideous scarring up her arms. Casually, she bounces a basket ball, idly staring into space. Her hair is long, almost reaching her rear. A fringe cut so it falls over her eyes, something obscene written on the front of her dark shirt. The sleeves have clearly been ripped; the vest top is threadbare around the edges. She's simply waiting, like she always is. There's a slam and, turning her head, she watches Kula come through the door._

_Kula is around fifteen, sixteen. And her hair has recently been dyed - bright pink and vibrant, dressed in her sports kit that is slightly too big for her. On her shoulder she has a large duffle bag and, upon seeing Ophelia, she promptly drops it. Her heavily outlined eyes narrow and, marching towards her, she says, __**"You. You did it again, didn't you?"**_  
_In response to this Ophelia slowly turns around, grinning at Kula. The taller girl pops the basket ball with a slight grip and, spreading her arms, she says, __**"And? You're free, aren't you Kula-Kool? There's no more of the little blondies running around on the pitch; no cheerleaders shrieking at you because of scars in the bathroom..."**_  
_Before her, Kula relaxes. __**"You... You did it, for me?"**__ Gently, idly, Kula runs her finger tips over the scars on her inner arms. It's not even worth thinking about her legs. Raising her head she stares at Ophelia from beneath her fringe; the other girl is inches away from her face, grinning. __**"Who's next, Kula-Kool? Don't play coy; I've seen you what you can do, **_**girly-o**_**."**_  
_**"Seen..."**__ Kula's blue eyes widen. Of course. What she can do. Slowly, Ophelia raises her hands, holding Kula's face. __**"I have no idea who I am either, Kula-Kool. I have a memory of the past... What? Five years? I've known you for five years. I've never aged, needed to eat, sleep. But you. I like you. And I like **_**nobody**_**."**_

_Prom night. Everybody loves prom night,_ right_. Kula's sat outside, smoking a cigarette with her makeup running down her face. Her hand shakes and she closes her eyes, biting her lip. Slowly, somebody seats herself next to her, slipping a cigarette into her bloody mouth. __**"Ophelia,"**__ Kula utters, turning her head look at her. The pale-faced girl smiles at Kula, looking over her friend.__** "You don't look half bad in a dress, Kula-Kool. Say, what are you doing out here. Crying. With a cigarette. Shouldn't you be dancing?"**_  
_Kula snorts, stubbing out the cigarette,__** "Dancing with who? Everybody thinks I'm a freak show."**_  
_**"I**_**love**_** freak shows."**_  
_Turning her head again Kula blinks at Ophelia, of whom stands and offers a hand,__** "I may not be wearing a dress, but I'll sure as hell dance with you."**_

_**"Everybody is staring at us,"**__ Kula utters as Ophelia drags her on to the dance floor - it's like she can feel the eyes. Looking at the scars, her bright hair. But Ophelia just grins and, assuming the dancing pose, she says, __**"Let them - Just wait for it. I promised you a surprise, didn't I?"**_  
_**"Yeah..."**_  
_Ophelia grins that terrible grin. That grin that shows her pointed teeth, the wildness in her eyes. But she can't help it - when Ophelia's eyes invert in colour, the whites flaring black and her pupils swallowed into white orbs, Kula grins. She laughs. And when the insults are thrown at her she just laughs, her eyes snapping open as she rips the hem of her dress for easier movement, pulling her hair from the prissy style. The pair turn to the sea of staring teenagers and, gently taking Kula's hand, Ophelia whispers, __**"I'll love you, even if I forget."**_

_They're walking down the road, side by side. Kula's smoking a cigarette, head down and hands shoved into the pockets of skinny jeans. Her boots clomp against the ground, but they're nothing in comparison to Ophelia's knee-high heavy-duty boots. And in the haze of the Summer's evening Ophelia begins to tie up her hair, when the sound of a sniper rifle firing hits the air. They miss. Instantly Ophelia seizes Kula, dragging her down. Her eyes invert colour and, ushering Kula fiercely, she yells, __**"Run!"**_  
_Kula looks back at her, eyes wide, __**"I said **_**run**_**!"**_

_Kula takes a few steady steps backwards, eyes wide when she spots two people coming over the hill. __**"Ophi?"**__ She stutters, eyes flickering white. __**"Don't,"**__ Ophelia says, __**"They'll find you. They find me, every time. I can never remember -"**__ She tosses Kula something from her jacket. A music box. A tiny music box. __**"Run, for god's sake **_**Kula**_**!"**_  
_Instantly, Kula bolts. Charging down the slope and away from the road. She daren't look back. She runs through the heat, hair splayed behind her. And only when she feels she's safe does Kula look back. Her blue eyes catch the sheen of the sunlight on a pair of glasses. And behind him, a Haitian male. There's a fevered struggle occurring; in a splay of black hair Ophelia goes down, but Kula runs._  
_And she doesn't stop._

_Coffee shops. Since she broke out of that horrible place - not that she exactly remembers how, - she's just sat here. Or outside. For some reason she gets extreme cravings for cigarettes, yet she never remembers smoking in her life. Well. She can't remember anything. She takes a mouthful of coffee, raising her eyes to the window fogged with rain, before somebody bursts through the door. She has pink hair - well, faded pink hair. Leather jacket, skinny jeans and clompy boots. She has no idea who Kula is, but she knows that face.__** "Ophelia!**__" The strange woman exclaims, bolting towards her. In that second Ophelia finds arms thrown around her neck, the scent of oil, cigarettes and pie. She knows this smell. Her dark eyes look up into a face that seems so familiar - Kula gently takes Ophelia's face, that face that never ages, and she asks, __**"What the fuck happened to you?"**_

_Kula drives and drives, her eyes narrowed and sharp in the darkness. __**"Missing. Missing for two years, Ophelia. Again. You're right under my fucking arm one minute, gone the next. "**__ She growls and, swerving, she heads down the little road in Texas. The corpses... Oh god. Kula's hand grips the wheel and, as she goes, she mutters a prayer for the souls here. Eventually she comes to the very end; caught in the fierce headlights of her pick up truck is a small, flimsy female. She's shaking, dressed in nothing but a white dress and covered in blood. Her long, black hair is singed in places, and her hands are shaking. She looks up, at Kula, with such fear in her eyes that Kula almost believes that's not the killer she knew. But there's no mistaking Ophelia - she trots forwards, gently lifting the bloodied girl into her arms. Ophelia, who doesn't look a day over seventeen. __**"Don't speak,"**__ She mutters,__** "You're safe now."**_

_The telephone just won't shut up. This memory is so recent that it's clear - Ophelia peers around the door way, recently having had her hair cut. She rubs the back of her neck thoughtfully, watching Kula answer the phone. She's always so moody._  
_**"What, Bennett?"**__ She snaps down the phone. __**"Yeah. I have her. It's fine - the drugs are working fine. She's got no memory of anything; not even me... Yeah. I know, I know. If she becomes trouble, I'll bring her in. I promise. I haven't spent my whole life working to keep her fucking safe for nothing - she's not even enrolled in Claire's school anymore. Chill out."**_  
_What. Who's Claire? Who's Bennett? Ophelia frowns, running off into the bathroom before Kula sees her._

_A blade. A__** razor**__ blade if you want to be exact - Ophelia kneels before the bath tub, arm trembling as she slices open her very skin. She watches as it heals and scars, before repeating. Over and over, the scars leaving a trail up her arm. Can't die. She's trapped - she's hurled herself off of walls, off of bridges. Cut her own throat. Gently, she touches the scar. The sight of the bright red blood against the white of the bath - the razor clatters against it's flawless surface as she stands, shaking her head. Raking a hand through her hair - it's already grown past her jaw, - she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Gently she picks up the bloodied razor, presses her forehead against the glass, and exhales slowly. Repeating the phrase she doesn't know the origin of - __**"I'll love you until I forget."**_


End file.
